


It was Only a Game of Wicked Grace

by KieraVenic



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Clothing Theft, Drinking, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Silly, Underwear Theft, Wicked Grace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-03-23 00:18:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3748399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KieraVenic/pseuds/KieraVenic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Viscount had asked Aveline to lead one of his more contentious nobles through the prisons as a display of how the Guard truly was cracking down on crime, she had expected a dull day. She was sorely mistaken; For better or for worse. “Dare I ask why you are in here? And why is Sebastian naked?” “Like I said,” Varric sighed. “It was just supposed to be a game of Wicked Grace…”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t even know what started this… Only that I’d written so much fluff and angst lately that I needed a little more humor to brighten things up. Things got a little out of hand.

When the Viscount had asked Aveline to lead one of his more contentious nobles through the prisons as a display of how the Guard truly was cracking down on crime, she had expected a dull day.

She was sorely mistaken; For better or for worse.

“Heeey,  Aveline, friend. Buddy.”

It was the last voice she had expected to hear, down in the cells, and yet she felt not an inkling of surprise to find six pairs of familiar eyes staring at her. Aveline Vallen froze in mute horror as the nobleman beside her stuttered to an irritable halt.

“Hawke…?”

Hawke. Hawke dressed only in a Templar’s tabard and skirt. And not just Hawke, for that matter. Green eyes darted from one face to the next, each in varying states of inebriation, irritation, or failed charm.

On the narrow cot, Varric, Hawke, Sebastian, and Merrill were all crammed together. Varric’s legs dangled off one end where he was sprawled on his back, head in Hawke’s lap, both shirtless and covered in body paint. Sebsastian, the sorry sod, was trapped between a scantily clad Marian Hawke and Merrill, sans her chain mail. Also, high. Very high. Aveline’s eyes narrowed at the giggling Elf that slumped across the priest, her pupils dilated far too wide. And… And was Sebastian wearing only a blanket?

Fenris was sprawled out on the floor, even more cranky than Varric and apparently still drunk. He was attempting to glower at Isabela who was periodically kicking his thigh to the beat of some sea shanty. The flower crown she wore was less confusing than the fact that her usual bandana had been replaced by Sebastian’s belt; apparently the only article of his clothing to make it into the cell.

Best attempt at a charming smile on her face, Hawke awkwardly waved. “I can explain.”

Aveline stared for a moment more and then instantly turned and continued onward. “This way you can find our more high security cells.” The nobleman was only more than happy to get away from this particularly odd group of ruffians.

“Hey! WAIT! Don’t leave us in here! … shit…”

Any other protests that could have been made were lost behind the slam of the cell block door.

.:*:.

It was some time before Aveline managed to lose her “guest”. She scowled, scratching away furiously with her quill. The next time the Viscount wanted her to placate the nobles breathing down his neck, he could damn well warn her ahead of time.

Still, it had not been a complete disaster. The sheer number of criminals in the cells had been both reassuring and unnerving to the man touring behind her. A showing of the bustling barracks and the well-tended assignment board had done greater good, in her opinion. Not that the Viscount often listened to her opinion…

And there was one other little matter to attend to.

In the dim prison, Aveline scowled at eyes that blinked back with false innocence.

“Dare I ask _why_ you are in here? And why is Sebastian _naked_?”

“These sinful hooligans,” Sebastian growled, “stole my clothing.”

Still laid out on the floor, Fenris snarled and shook his fist… entirely in the wrong direction. Varric irritably batted the appendage away. “You lost your clothing fair and square, priest,” the inebriated Elf slurred.

“Isabela turning my small cloths into a pirate flag was not a part of the deal!” Sebastian snapped back.

The Pirate paused in her harassment of Fenris’ thigh just long enough to toss her head back with a cackle. “Give me yer booty!”

Still leaning on the Brother, Merrill burst into a fit of giggles. “Booty.” A frown of disapproval was directed her way, though Sebastian made no effort to shove her off.

On the other side of the bars, Aveline stared with horrified curiosity… and rage. “You… You turned Sebastian’s clothing… into a flag?”

Not entirely in her right mind herself, or so Aveline would guess by the odd glaze in her eyes, Hawke squinted hard in thought. “Just the underwear… I think. …It might possibly be flying from the Viscount’s Keep.”

“ _What!?_ ” Aveline fairly shrieked. So it was true… the letter of complaint was damn well true and she had her _friends_ to thank for the rambling letter of “rising hooliganism and terrorism” in the city. The urge to choke the group curled her fingers.

Still giggling, Merrill slowly slid off Sebastian’s shoulder to lie across his lap; her head on Hawke’s other thigh. Hawke sympathetically pat the Elf as she lost her battle against hysterics. This was too much.

“Is she high!?”

Hawke leaned back, squinting at the finger thrust through the cell bars, despite the fact that Aveline’s hand was several feet away. She gave up attempting to follow when Aveline then gestured, infuriated, at Varric.

“And why is Varric covered in paint?”

After a loud clearing of his throat, which availed him little, Varric groggily supplied, “The bunny god needed appeasement.”

Judging by how blood shot his eyes were, Aveline had a feeling that more than alcohol hummed in his system. She glowered further.

“… The bunny god…”

All but snuggling into Hawke’s lap, Merrill nodded emphatically. “The bunny, the bear, the owl, the halla!” Her nose scrunched. “Not the wolf though. He’s grumpy.”

Too much. This was just too much. Hand drawn back to pinch the bridge of her nose, Aveline squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe if she willed it hard enough they would just disappear from the cell. Eyes open. Nope. Still there. She sighed.

“Can someone who is not high or drunk, or Sebastian, answer me?”

Indignant, Sebastian drew up, blanket still clutched almost primly to his chest. She was sure she would laugh about this later. Right now she wanted to cry.

“What!? Why no—”

“… Hawke… Are you wearing a Templar’s tabard? … And skirts? Please… Please tell me you are not wearing a Templar’s uniform… Please, Hawke. I need to hear this right now.”

Falsely innocent eyes grew wider. It did nothing to make them any more believable. “Hear that, yes, I am wearing a Templar’s uniform? … Possibly?”

 _Now Aveline… Just breathe. Maybe there is a perfectly logical explanation for why an apostate has a Templar’s uniform…_ She could dream.

“Please tell me those are Carver’s and that you borrowed them…”

Suitable horrified, Hawke cast her a dirty look. “I hope not! I’m wearing someone’s small cloths!”

The possibility of vomiting was an ever growing concern. Face tight with regret and sickness, Aveline dragged her hand down her face. “Someone… please just start from the beginning.”

With a groan, Varric shifted on the cot and attempted to rise. He failed miserably. “It was just supposed to be a game of Wicked Grace.”

“How come I’m never invited to these?”

Her pouted words drew an incredulous look from Hawke. The woman gestured around at the group, a third of which she had sprawled into her lap. “Do you want to be? I wasn’t either and I ended up in a Templar’s skivvies.”

Valid. Very valid.

“That’s… a good point. Just… someone explain this, please.”

“Like I said,” Varric sighed. “It was just supposed to be a game of Wicked Grace…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Varric will get to test his storytelling talents in the next chapter and Aveline may just want to fulfill her earlier idea of choking someone. Better guard your throat, Hawke.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Smidge bit of language and the removal of clothes. Nothing major.

**Flash Back**

"The places I let you people take me…"

Seated at Varric's table, Sebastian glanced around the upper floor of the Hanging Man with obvious distaste. Lip curled, he flicked at a dubious lump of… something on the stained wood, sending it skittering off onto the already filthy floor.

"Oh come on, Choir boy. It's just one game of Wicked Grace. You said you wanted to 'get to know us' better, so what better way?"

The Prince sniffed with a little disdain. "Figures that wanting to get to understand a group of hooligans would lead to gambling. I don't gamble."

At the other end of the table, chair leant back and boots up, Isabela scoffed. "Well that figures. That's half the fun of the game."

"Gambling is deplorable."

The scrape of her boots as she drew them down to the floor. With a feral grin, Isabela leaned forward, elbows on the table to frame the show of her ample cleavage. "Oh come on. I've heard the stories about you. You cannot tell me you've never gambled."

A hint of red on his cheeks, Sebastian did an admirable job of keeping his eyes on her face. She had a feeling half of his glaring was simply to narrow his range of vision to make the task easier. "That is a life that I have left behind."

A pout of her lips. "Come now, even Chantry boys can have a little fun."

His frown drew sharper and she sighed. Her arms folded, palms slapping down on the table with her disappointment. "Fine. Have it your way then."

"Think you can read the cards this time, Broody?"

Fenris snorted. "I can read just fine."

Isabela barked a laugh. "Now maybe, but have you learned which order the numbers go in yet? Or has Hawke not gotten to math yet in your little 'tutoring lessons'?"

The dirty implications there did not go unnoticed. Fenris scowled. "I know how to count, woman. All she does it hand me a book, so you can keep your mind out of the gutter."

Undeterred, Isabela flashed a grin. "I have a few books she could suggest to you. Two of you could probably learn a lot from those."

Slightly red faced, Fenris snatched the deck from Varric's hands and began passing out the cards. "No gambling," he muttered. Pleased with herself, Isabela took her hand and returned to her earlier balancing act on the back legs of her chair.

It was only a matter of time, seconds really, before alcohol became involved. After the first several attempts they stopped bothering to offer the bottle to Sebastian who glared at it with offense. Varric shook his head in humorous dismay. "You must lead a dull life, Choir boy. No gambling, no drinking, and a vow of chastity."

Even with her lips around the bottle of wine, Isabela managed to look suitably horrified. Sebastian snorted softly, never taking his eyes off his hand.

"One does not need vices to enjoy life. It took me some time to come to that realization, but I find I have come to appreciate life better without them."

Varric shrugged and took another quick swig of his own drink. "To each his own."

Yet, as the game dragged on, Isabela sank lower and lower in her seat. "This is dull. Where's the excitement!? The adrenaline? That on the edge of your seat fear as you put everything on the line? Come on. Can't we at least bet with beans? … Or better yet, clothing." She grinned cattily.

"These robes belong to the Chantry, they aren't just mine to give away."

The Pirate tossed up her hands. "Always something with you."

"What if we don't bet the clothing to one another, but simply the right to wear it? Would that appease the both of you?" Varric suggested.

The instant gleam on Isabela's face said she was already hooked. Sebastian looked far less appealed. The bridge of his nose wrinkled. "Strip Wicked Grace? Are you serious?"

"I won't even need to guess the color of Fenris' under garments!" Isabela crowed happily.

The already drunk Elf snorted with amusement. "Like that will stop you trying. Besides, who said you would get me that far?"

The idea of a challenge only sharpened Isabela's grin. Sebastian looked less and less willing to agree. Varric quickly stepped in.

"Look, we'll work it so that if you can choose what article you remove. Yes, Isabela, your bandana can count."

"Where's the fun in that?"

Her pout went ignored. "And only the person with the worst hand has to remove something. If you tie for worst, then both would have to remove something. You can't tell me you don't have a million layers to those robes. I know you Chantry folk have all that pomp and ceremony about every aspect of life."

Sebastian appeared to teeter on the edge. Warily, his eyes moved to Isabela, but she was too busy wiggling her eyebrows at Fenris and throwing out colors. He glanced at their tallied scores. So far, they were surprisingly mostly even. Varric hedged them out a little ways, but to his surprise, for being fairly out of practice with the game, Sebastian had held his own against Isabela and Fenris.

Perhaps… Perhaps it could not hurt.

With a heavy sigh, knowing he would most likely regret this, Sebastian caved. "Alright. If you insist."

And oh how dreadfully right he was…

It did not seem in any way possible, but somehow, alcohol only appeared to improve his opponents. He stared with dismay as once again, he lay down the worst of the losing hands.

"You're cheating…"

Varric laughed already sans his coat, gloves, and boots. "Really?"

"Oooo," Isabela cooed. "I win again! Someone is a sore loser."

"Not sore, merely perplexed as to how you can do _better_ when you can hardly read the cards… Two of your wins were almost negated because you misread the numbers." Sighing, Sebastian slid his cards over to Varric to shuffle again. "I should never have pointed it out to you…"

The pirate was not put off. Her hand thrust out towards the priest, fingers curling repeatedly. "Come on! Pay up!"

He gave her a pained look, but slowly, peeled off his undershirt. He was down to only his pants and small cloths now. This was not going well, not at all.

Fenris had managed to only lose his gauntlets, which was a wonder, as Isabela was not incorrect with his sometimes failing ability to order the numbers correctly. Isabela had only lost her bandana and boots. The bandana had quickly been replaced with Sebastian's belt, much to his disapproval. All attempts to reacquire the belt were for naught.

His remarks that it was hardly appropriate for a woman of her kind to be wearing Andraste's face on her brow were met with, "And I'm sure the Maker loves you having the face of his Bride between your legs."

He had stopped trying after that.

"You know," Varric said with a gesture of his mug towards Isabela, "I'm shocked that you didn't go for the top right off."

"Come now, Varric. Where is the fun if you don't save the best for last?"

In teasing cheer, Varric raised his mug. "I'll drink to that."

"You will drink to anything," Sebastian muttered as he threw down yet another losing hand. They had to be cheating. There was no way he could go from holding his own to falling on his face so swiftly. Three more hands went down and three sets of inebriated eyes darted among the cards before Isabela crowed.

"Victory again for the Pirate Queen! Ha! Pay up, Choir boy!"

He scowled at her. Never had he hated a nickname quite this much and he had had quite a few colorful ones in his younger days. With a weary sigh, his pants joined the pile.

Varric's shirt was soon to follow, the Dwarf shaking his head with an amused smirk. "Might be eating my own words soon."

And…

"Absolutely not."

"Rules are rules!"

"I'm not stripping entirely naked."

"You agreed to the terms, Land Lubber! The Pirate Queen takes no prisoners!"

Her fist slammed on the table in mock rage, but Isabela was all feral grins. Ale sloshed and Fenris scowled, grabbing his mug before it could tip over as Varric protested the loss of "good" ale. One could hardly call anything served here as good, but it was all they had so the wise and the desperate did not complain.

"I am not getting naked in front of you… you… heathens!"

Isabela snorted. "Heathens? Really? That's the best you have? I've been called faaaar worse," she slurred.

"I recall Aveline calling you a whore on our last outing," Fenris muttered into his mug.

Brown eyes rolled. "Yes, because I've never heard that one before. Please. Whore's get paid, anyway."

Revulsion slackened Sebastian's jaw, but it tightened again quickly as Isabela leant around the table to try and nab his small cloths. "Hey!"

"Fenris! Phase through the table and grab them."

Even the Elf looked put off. "I am not using my marks to grab another man's underwear…"

"What good are they if not to steal people's clothing? … Do you think it's possible to phase just through the top layer of their clothes to take off their underwear? Or undo the hooks on a woman's breast band?" The sheer possibilities gleamed in her eyes. It was evident that Fenris was torn between being mildly horrified, offended, or amused. Varric thought he just looked constipated.

"Come on, Choir boy. Rules are rules. I'm nearly about to join you."

"Fine," Sebastian hissed.

More than one quizzical stare followed him as he rose and stormed into the side room that served as Varric's bedroom. Seconds later a pair of small cloths flew out to join the sad pile of his clothes. Mahogany hands flew up into the air with glee.

"Whoo!" Only to then crash onto the table with an indignant slap. "No! That's cheating!"

"Woman, will you stop jarring the alcohol?" Fenris growled. But he went ignored.

As dignified as he could manage, Sebastian reseated himself at the table… wrapped in only a blanket. "It is not cheating. Blankets do not constitute as clothing."

A guffaw erupted from Varric. "He's got you there, Rivaini."

"No he doesn't! That's just further proof that he's a dirty cheater!"

**The Present**

Armored hand raised, Aveline broke into the retelling. "Alright, wait, so far this only sounds like a usual night for all of you. Though, Sebastian is new… I'm shocked that you joined them, Brother."

Drawing the blanket around him tighter, Sebastian scowled. "I was hoping to understand what drives them, to get to know the 'people' of the city better so that I may help them more appropriately… Foolishly I let my guard down. I should know better than that with this group by now."

The look Aveline gave him was sympathetic.

"Sadly, however, this would not be my first time running outside in only a blanket," Sebastian sighed.

Sympathy flew out the window. Aveline's eyebrows shot up to her leather headband. "I'm sorry, what?"

Her voice was nearly lost under Isabela's as the Rivaini pirate perked up excitedly in her corner. "You? In a blanket before? Oh, please, do tell. I need to hear this story."

Teeth gritted, Sebastian leaned around Hawke to growl at the tanned woman. "Absolutely not."

" _It was an ordinary night_ ," Varric declared loudly over the group before they could derail further. "… At least until Hawke came in with Merrill."

"Tea!" the Elf cried, throwing her hands up. Hawke blinked in startled alarm as Merrill's hand slapped into her face.

Varric tried to arch his back, tipping his head to glower in Merrill's general direction. "Whatever that was, it was _not_ tea. …As I was saying…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 – In which Merrill has Varric try some… 'tea'.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mild implications of drug use. More naked priests. Nothing serious.

**Flashback**

In the time it took for Isabela to finally relent and let Sebastian keep the blanket, also known as the time Varric spent nearly an hour trying to mediate the heated debate between a pirate and a priest, Fenris had gone to the bar nearly four times.

“Are you sure your heart doesn’t just pump alcohol? How are you not dead? Hell, how can you still walk?” Varric wondered.

Fenris glanced at his half empty mug, shrugged, and returned to drinking. Isabela was pretty far into her own set of drinks, the game half-forgotten at this point. “Ish a talent,” she declared.

Somewhere down in the main room, a familiar voice nearly wailed Varric’s name. Isabela swiveled to grin at Fenris. “Your pretty birdy is here.” Irritable eyes narrowed at her over the edge of his wooden mug.

Moments later, Marian Hawke entered, half helping and half restraining Merrill. “Varric… Help,” Hawke huffed.

Ginger blonde brows shot up. “Daisy? Are you…?”

“Baked,” Hawke growled. “Some ass sold her ‘tea’ and after she steeped a cup or two I found her trying to bake her whole house to ‘induce visions’.”

Isabela fairly roared with laughter. “She’s high? On tea?”

Hawke sighed. “No tea I’ve ever heard of… Then she decided to get more and start using it like incense. When I find that merchant…” None so subtle threats were muttered beneath her breath.

The help she was hoping for was perhaps… not so helpful. Isabela was clearly near her limit and Fenris, while still going, would soon be regretting it once the food in his stomach digested. The amused shakes of his head did not leave her much hope for Varric and Sebastian simply looked harassed.

“… You’re all trashed… aren’t you?”

“What clued you in?” Sebastian muttered with a gesture to two dozen mugs littered around their table of scattered cards.

“… Are you in only a blanket?”

“Bahahaha!” For a drunk, Isabela was surprisingly well balanced. Her chair rocked back to a degree that Hawke figured would send her crashing down, but she held it as she rode out her fit of laughter. Against her side, Hawke could feel Merrill giggling helplessly with the other woman.

“Aw look at her, she’s so cute though,” Isabela cooed as she rocked to her feet. Merrill was only half her destination though.

Hawke sighed as she readjusted Isabela’s hand from her rear. “Hello Isabela…”

In only a matter of minutes Hawke found herself stuck in a game of “handsies” with Isabela. Fingers interlaced, their hands wavered around in the air as Isabela attempted to get them closer and Hawke further away. Not truly bothered by it, Hawke watched with amusement as Isabela leaned in, trying to snag a kiss.

“I see you’ve enjoyed your evening.” It went unnoticed when Merrill bounced away to go pester Varric.

The Dwarf was forced to give up his rooting on of Isabela when he found a pouch of leaves presented to him. “Tea!” Merrill chimed, her voice sing song.

Tea. Varric hated tea. It might have had a chance, if only his mother had not tried to make it the only thing they ever drank. She disapproved when Varric and Bartrand had taken to using alcohol instead of water to steep it. Alcohol did absolutely nothing to improve the flavor, most likely making it worse, but when one was drunk enough you stopped noticing things like flavor.

But with the way Daisy was smiling at him, it would be rude to refuse. A little tea could not hurt, he supposed. Never let it be said that Varric Tethras had willingly disappointed a beautiful lady.

Dubious, Fenris watched Varric accepted a handful of the leaves. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Wasn’t Hawke implying that’s not tea?”

“It’s probably fine. You know Daisy. She gets hyper off of an excess of fresh air.”

“Accepting anything from a known blood mage is not wise.”

“Here we go again,” Varric muttered. One leaf was picked up and pressed to his tongue. Earthy and not the most enjoyable, but also not the worst tea he had ever put in his mouth.

Merrill frowned and practically slapped his hand up to his mouth. “Only helps if you eat all of it!”

“Oi, hold on, yeesh. Let a Dwarf sample it first. There’s an art to this, or some shit like that…”

“Oh yes,” Fenris drawled teasingly. “I wager you know _so much_ about the art of tea.”

“I know enough to know I generally detest the stuff. Mother had a habit of buying it in vast quantities once she heard it was all the rage among human nobles. Can’t live among the Dwarven nobility in Orzammar? Why not suck up to the humans!” he declared with scathing slurred sarcasm.

With a scoff, Fenris shook his head. “The human nobles don’t even know what they want.”

“You can say that again,” Varric muttered and finally tossed back the handful of leaves at Merrill’s repeated insistence. Face screwed up in disgust, he smacked his lips. “Uch. It’s even worse when dry. Sorry Daisy, but this stuff is awful. Take it back to the vendor and demand your money back.”

“Of course it’s awful, you don’t _eat_ tea,” Fenris rumbled.

“You ate random leaves that may have gotten her high!?”Sebastian squawked. “You people are utterly immoral.”

“Says the priest in a blanket,” Varric laughed. With a roll of his eyes he snagged another pinch, flicking them at Sebastian. “It’s tea, relax.”

Current state forgotten for a moment, Sebastian threw up his hands. “She said it might be tea! This is why drinking is a horrible habit! Your judgment is clouded.” As the blanket banded around him rapidly began to slip down he hunched, immediately snapping his hands back to the fabric.

“Sure sure,” Varric uttered, obviously having phased the lecture out. He was currently watching Isabela attempt to get Hawke into nothing but a blanket as well. “Shouldn’t you be doing something about that?”

Bleary green eyes slid his way. “And why would I do that?”

“Aren’t you two…?” A few indecent gestures of Varric’s hands had Sebastian storming away in disgust. But Fenris looked more torn than uncomfortable.

“It’s complicated.”

“Uh huh… Admit it, you half want Isabela to succeed.” Another few pinches of leaves were pressed into Varric’s hand. He gave Merrill a despairing look, but she only chirped for him to eat them. While Fenris raised his mug little higher to half cover his face, Varric forced down another mouthful of the foul blend Merrill had purchased.

“Didn’t say that,” Fenris muttered.

“Ha! Words aren’t always necessary, Broody. You two are—Oi!”

In a bumbling attempt to get away from the rather large sword that cut through the air, Varric threw himself out of his chair. Merrill squeaked as her pouch of leaves was knocked away. Varric however, was not the unfortunate target.

With a yelp, Sebastian hopped back as Fenris’ blade buried itself in the floor between him and the dresser where his clothing had been stored on top. “You gave us your word, priest. I expect you to keep it.”

Both furious, and mildly terrified, Sebastian gaped at the Elf. “The game is over!”

Undaunted, Fenris stared him down. “It’s not over until we agree it’s over. Cards are still in play on the table.”

“In play!? They’re scattered everywhere! We don’t even know whose hand is whose anymore!”

“My floor! I have to pay for that you know!”

A pouch was proffered. “Tea helps soothe nerves.”

It was around that time that Hawke managed to subdue Isabela enough to realize that Merrill had left her side. The offered pouch and the growing dilation of Varric’s eyes were not unnoticed. “Merrill, no! Damn it! Stop feeding those to people! I don’t even know what that is!”

Eyes wide, Merrill grabbed Varric. “Quick, the paints and tea pot are back at my house.”

Unsteady on his feet and yet oddly light feeling, Varric could only put up mild protests as Merrill shooed him to his feet and out the door. “I can’t leave! Fenris is turning my floor into kindling! This place may be a dive, but that’s not cheap you know!”

“We can ask the bunny god for aid! To the paints!”

“Merrill! No! Come back! Isabela! Will you get off?” Hawke scowled at the woman that was half draped over her.

“Mmmm no.” The words purred out like a satisfied cat. But it was not long before Isabela’s happily squinting expression twisted into a frown. “Wait… Varric left… He’s almost lost.”

Her eyes flared before they narrowed with fury. “That coward! He ran out on our game! Hey! This game isn’t over yet, Dwarf!”

“Isabela, wha—hey!”

Mercifully, Hawke found herself unhanded, but only long enough for Isabela to dart over to snatch Sebastian’s clothing from the dresser before smacking Hawke on the rear as she passed to hurry out the door. Hawke pressed her face into her hand. “Why do I bother?”

“Woman! Bring my clothing back!”

And there went Sebastian… hobbling down the stairs… in a blanket. Hawke cast a trying look at Fenris who did not bother to return it. Instead he threw back the last of his ale before wrenching his sword from the floor. He stalked past Hawke with a growl, “He gets nothing back until this game is over.”

**The Present**

“I should have just left you assholes to get arrested,” Hawke grumbled.

The smile on Aveline’s face was knowing, if not tested. “Hawke, you can never stay out of anything. Five years here and somehow you’ve become involved in every major case, and quite a few minor ones, that I’ve dealt with.”

Harassed, Hawke gave her friend a flat look. “I had three drunks, one of which was high, a naked Priest, and a high Elf running lose on the streets. I knew you’d blame me anyway for whatever they got into.”

“Blame you!?” Aveline crossed her arms in indignation. “I do no such thing.”

Unblinking, Hawke held her stare, eyebrows shifting up bit by bit with each second. Eventually Aveline had to cave, expression both guilty and contrite.

“Well… Maybe I do sometimes.”

“Uh huh… Well, regardless, I found them again in the Alienage. Merrill had already started in on the damn paints…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 – In which Isabela finds a new use for Sebastian’s clothes and Hawke says ‘fuck it’.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eek, sorry this is late. Got distracted by my Warden. I blame him. I also then proceeded to lose the file I had with my most recent changes because I had saved it in my Temp folder instead of my writing folder. So that took a while to refind. Ugh. But here it is! More shenanigans.
> 
> Warnings – Tiny bit of language. More Sebastian in a blanket. Nothing big.

**Flashback**

“Merrill… What are you doing?”

Apparently fed up with the whole non-sense, having stopped bothering to hound Isabela for his clothing, Sebastian gestured towards the pair seated by Merrill’s door with mild disgust. “What does it look like? She’s indoctrinating him.”

‘Indoctrinating’ seemed a bit much for what appeared to be a liberal coating of trees and, possibly, rabbits.

“Varric agreed to help me appease the bunny god!” A few green dots were hastily flecked onto Varric’s skin. Leaves, most likely.

The Dwarf squirmed uncomfortably. “You sure this is going to help? It tickles and I feel ridiculous.”

Merrill’s assurances were half smothered under Sebastian’s protests. “You can’t just drag a devout Andrastian into a heathen ritual!”

“Devout… Varric?” Hawke gave Sebastian a sidelong look, half of exasperation and half amusement.

The priest crossed his arms, failing to look as serious as he probably wanted, wrapped in only a blanket. “Yes. I had not entirely expected it either, but he does attend service, weekly.”

Now that was news. Hawke shrugged. “Well, he did join willingly. That has to count for something.”

“Willingly!?” Sebastian gestured more wildly at the pair. Varric had at some point started struggling against uncontrollable laughter as Merrill began to more tickle him with the brush than paint with it. “Look at them! She got him high!”

“To be fair, she thought she was giving him tea.”

“Tea!? I told him it was a horrible idea! Even Fenris, sloshed as he is, told Varric it was a bad idea.”

Not far away, prowling the perimeter, Fenris stopped long enough to glower at Sebastian, hesitating as he struggled to search the statement for insult. None found, he took a swig from a mysteriously procured bottle. Hawke scowled. The Elves needed to stop imbibing mystery substances.

It was only mid rant that Sebastian noticed Merrill was already half way up the Vhenadahl in the center of the alienage. “What are you doing!?” the Priest squawked. For all his ranting about her behavior, Hawke noted he seemed awfully worried as he hurried over to the tree. “Merrill! Get down!”

Clung onto the side like a squirrel, Merrill laughed. “Need a seed pod!”

“You need to get down before you break your neck! You’re inebriated!”

Large green eyes blinked at him, irises near lost in the vast black of her pupils. Clearly at a loss for what the priest was ranting about, the she Elf shrugged and continued her scurry up the tree. Her quest for a seed pod however was shortly lived. In moments she was hanging from the back of her knees, swinging in a fit of giggles. Beneath her, Sebastian looked ready to lay an egg as he circled anxiously. He was more likely to get crushed than manage to catch her.

“Get down!”

Hawke sighed. “I’m too sober for this…”

Seriously considering the risk of attempting to steal Fenris’ mystery alcohol, Hawke found him standing guard by Isabela, who was still in possession of Sebastian’s clothing. Swaying a little too much, he had stabbed his blade into the ground, gripping the hilt tightly in one hand to keep his balance as he kept a hold on his bottle with the other.

“I think that might be a sign,” Hawke teased as she approached.

Eyes narrowed, Fenris held the bottle a little closer. Perhaps stealing the alcohol was not the wisest of options.

“Isabela… Are you painting something on Sebastian’s small cloths…?”

Isabela grinned broadly and brandished the garment proudly. A slightly smeared skull gazed owlishly at her. “I’ve plundered his booty.”

It was decided. Alcohol simply would not be enough to cure this. Striding over to Varric, who was struggling (and failing) to look at what Merrill had painted on his back, Hawke snatched the pouch of “tea leaves” off his thigh. “Give me that.” And before he could offer protest, she swallowed a palm full.

**Present**

“Hawke! You joined in!? I thought you were following them to be responsible!”

“I was!” Hawke defended weakly. “But at some point you just have to throw in the towel and join the madness. The Elves were already giving us enough frowny faces from their windows without me climbing their tree to retrieve Merrill and getting shanked! …Or splinters. Maker, I _hate_ splinters… Got a three inch one in my foot once… Fucking miserable…”

Unimpressed, Aveline growled, “Not the point. And I take it then this is how you ended up in a Templar’s undergarments.”

“… There is a slim possibility. But yeah, that was not tea. At all.”

**Flashback**

“Stuffing my hand through a man’s chest.”

“Broody, that doesn’t count. Shoving your fist into people is a regular habit of yours.” Somewhere in the back, Isabela barked out a laugh and tipped over. Varric glanced around, at a loss for where the sound had come from. “… Right… Killing people is our thing. It’s what we do.”

Hardly put off, Fenris took a swig. Hawke gestured broadly in his direction, nearly smacking the bottle from his hand. “Where the hell did you even get that? How do you always have booze?”

The bottle was raised for examination, failed to produce results, and received a blink and a shrug.

An attempt was made for the bottle’s life. With a grunt, Hawke half fell over Fenris’ lap, reaching for it as the Elf held it just out of reach. Fingers wiggled as the Mage let out a plaintive whine. “Gimmie.”

“Mine.”

“Maker, why am I so damn hungry?” Varric grouched as his stomach rumbled yet again. Lacking food, he snagged a palm full of ‘tea’. “Uch. Not helping. Think I feel worse actually…”

The bottle was shifted between hands. “That’s because you’re not supposed to eat tea, fool.”

“Fenris! Gimmie! If you’re not going to share the damn alcohol then you can’t fuss about us eating tea.”

“I’m not fussing.”

“Avast, ye swabs!”

Three sets of bleary eyes glanced up as a crude flag made of a stick of the Vhenadahl tree and Sebastian’s small cloths was held aloft. Slowly, their attention shifted to Sebastian.

At this point, Sebastian had simply given up. Glowering from the shadows beneath the tree, he crossed his arms. “You know what? I don’t even care anymore. Take the damned thing.”

The ensuing silence lasted for maybe a second.

“I once phased my entire body into a person.”

Expressions of revulsion were abound. Above them, the tree exclaimed, “BOOM!” And then, “… That is very sad.”

“That’s it,” Varric grouched. “The tree is talking. Fuck it. I’m leaving.” His attempt to rise however failed, more so when Hawke and Fenris both grabbed for his boots.

“No!”

“Oh for the love of Andraste… It’s not the tree!” Sebastian growled. “It’s Merrill.” Said Elf was lost somewhere among the branches. Trying to scan the leafy branches just made Hawke feel nauseous.

“I knew that,” Varric muttered before allowing Hawke and Fenris to drag him down again. “Alright already! And Broody, that still doesn’t count. I told you, killing people is what we do. Messy, sure, but … ‘usual’ fare. Can hardly be counted the strangest thing one of us has done.”

A moment of contemplation. Fenris swirled the bottle of what was possibly wine. “What about the time I phased through a wall… and got stuck.”

It was too much. In a fit of laughter, Varric slumped over, curling in on himself. “Please, I need to see this happen again.”

“Hell no,” Fenris grumbled. “Was horrible. I was half way in one room and half back in the last.”

Given up on the bottle of booze, Hawke ungracefully rolled out of Fenris’ lap to lay sprawled between him and Varric. “What about the time Carver, Bethany, and I stole some farmer’s pigs to race? … That was such a horrible idea… Didn’t even get them more than a street away before we got caught. Literally got the family run out of town with a pitchfork. I blame Carver.”

Recovering from his laughter with a series of coughs, Varric shook his head. “Hawke, Fenris getting stuck in a wall is more exciting than that. Sorely disappointed I missed that. Also, how are you alive?”

No answer was forth coming from the Elf even as Hawke shouted something about lies and slander. But as the trio scoured their memories for the most absurd things they had ever done, none could agree on what was the absolute worst.

“Enough!” Hawke broke in, swaying unsteadily to her feet. “If we can’t decide then I’ll do it right now! Give me something crazy.” She gestured with her hand, calling for ideas, but instead received a near empty pouch of leaves. With a shrug she snatched another palm full.

Bottle empty, Fenris cast it aside in disappointment. “I don’t know… Catch Gamlen and ride him like one of those pigs of yours through Low Town?”

Hawke hunched over with a guffaw, but shook her head even as she laughed. “As much as I’d fucking love to, not crazy enough. Uch, and I’d have to deal with his bitching later. That or another threat to hack off my hair and sell it,” she muttered.

“Because he’s not going to yell at you about something else regardless?”

“True,” Hawke contemplated, “but still, I need something crazier.”

The three barely noticed as Merrill was at last coaxed out of the tree and had joined Isabela in whispered cahoots. Fenris and Varric tossed out ideas, but each was rejected. Rubbing the start of stubble on his chin, Varric at last offered, “Fine, then I bet you cannot get into the Gallows and steal a Templar’s uniform. And I don’t mean one from the recruit supplies, I mean a used uniform.”

Incredulous, yet Hawke’s expression had begun to rise in a grin. “You want me to strip a Templar?”

“If that’s what gets you excited, whatever. I just want to see someone’s name embroidered on them.”

Even drunk, there was still enough cognitive power left in Fenris’ brain to put together that that was probably a horrible idea. “That’s suicida—”

“Done!” Hawke cried. “Bring it, Dwarf. What do I get in return?”

“I’ll have Gamlen shoved off the Docks at the day’s peak by an anonymous party. Public humiliation galore.”

Head tossed back, Hawke barked out a maniacal laugh. “Yes. Deal.”

**The Present**

“And that is how Hawke ended up in a fist fight with a hobo,” Varric finished.

“Wait, wait, what?” Aveline broke in, both alarmed and lost. It was rather sweet the way her arms dropped from their cross to grip the bars in distress for some unknown stranger. There was no way in Varric’s mind that it could be anyone but the hobo that Aveline was worried for. Hawke had a habit of coating her fist with stone before driving it into someone’s face. It made the most delightful crunching sound, or so Fenris had said.

“What hobo? What happened to breaking into the Gallows!?”

Stubbornly, Hawke shook her head. “Uh uh. That’s my secret. I won the title of craziest among this group. I’m not letting that go.”

“That’s not something to be proud of, Hawke… And don’t you think the Templars should know that there is a flaw in their security?” Aveline asked with a glower.

She was levelled with an unimpressed look. Hawke mouthed the word ‘Apostate’ and Aveline tossed up her hands with exasperation. “Fine! How did you end up from the Gallows to _fist fighting_ some poor homeless person!? And dare I ask _WHO_ that uniform belongs to?”

“Good question,” Hawke mumbled as she wiggled around on the cot. With great effort she slipped her arms back into the tabard to twist it around on her torso. Turning the collar outward, her lips twitched as she silently read the name. A feral grin spread on her face and Aveline felt her hopes sink.

“They belong to one Templar by the name of Cullen Rutherford.”

There was no way that at least one blood vessel had not burst when Aveline threw her ensuing fit. Varric watched her, mildly impressed as she had her greatest snit yet in their years together.

“YOU STOLE THE KNIGHT CAPTAIN’S UNIFORM!?”

“And his underwear,” Hawke kindly reminded.

“HAWKE!”

“What!? He has spares! Not like this is his only pair of underwear! That’s what he gets for patrolling in the middle of the night! A Mage sneaks into his quarters and steals his panties!”

A snort of laughter jolted Varric’s head on Hawke’s thigh. “Panties?”

Very matter of factly, Hawke nodded. “Templar’s wear panties.”

Too much. It was simply too much as far as Aveline was concerned. She was starting to seriously regret asking to hear the story, but as Captain of the Guard it was her duty to get to the truth. Teeth grit, she talked over the group. “ _Hobo fist fight?_ ”

“He was not a hobo,” Hawke said with a glare in Varric’s direction. “He was a bandit, thank you very much.”

“A homeless bandit,” the Dwarf countered.

“Bandit hobo.”

“You said hobo.”

Hawke huffed. “A hobo is not the same as a bandit hobo.”

“Enough!” Aveline snapped. “Just tell me the damn story!”

Arms crossed, Hawke did not let up her glower at her shorter companion. “Well Mr. Storyteller? And get the bandit part right.”

“If you’re not going to tell it and make me do it then you don’t get to be picky,” Varric grumbled. “So, anyway…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 – In which Hawke acquires a uniform and Isabela stakes a claim to the Viscount’s booty.


	5. Chapter 5

**Flashback**

From the shadows of Kirkwall’s Gallows, a drunken voice slurred, “Where did the others go?”

“Does it matter?” a timber voice replied. Nervously, its short owner shifted. “I can’t believe an alarm hasn’t gone up yet.”

Beside Varric, Fenris squinted at the open court yard suspiciously, periodically darting a glance behind them as though still searching for the others that were who knew where. Ignoring the twitchy Elf, Varric frowned at the darkened Templar quarters.

“She’s been in there for a while now. I can’t believe just climbing the wall worked…” The words trailed away with a weak groan. “I think I am going to puke. What the hell was that tea?”

Torn from his unofficial duty as watch guard, Fenris frowned at Varric, taking a step away. “I told you, you don’t _eat_ tea. And don’t you dare throw up on me.” His last words gained an echoing quality as he spoke them into the mouth of his newly acquired bottle. They were cut off with a quick swig.

Hunched over, one arm banded across his belly, Varric squinted at the Elf. “Where do you keep getting those though, seriously?”

The secret behind Fenris’ never ending supply of alcohol was never revealed, however. Both males found themselves distracted by the frantic sound of scrabbling as Hawke all but threw herself over the top of the wall. And, with a flurry of swears, promptly fell right off the top. Both Varric and Fenris winced at the resounding thud of her hitting the stones.

The inebriated heap that was Hawke twisted in a hissing and swearing heap before she managed to regain her feet. Then, immediately, she stepped on the hem of her newly acquired Templar skirt and face planted the paving stones again.

Her head rose to glower through her mussed hair at the snickering duo in the shadows. Pushing up, she booked it across the courtyard to join them.

Aggravation from only seconds ago was forgotten as she proudly spread her arms. “Tada!”

With a wince, Fenris growled, “Loud.”

More taken aback, Varric eyed her up and down. “Are… Are you wearing only a tabard and a skirt? Where did your clothes go?”

Huffing, Hawke crossed her arms irritably. “You said I had to steal a uniform!” One hand gestured at her new attire.

It was blatant that Varric was struggling not to laugh by the uncontrollable grin that had spread across his face as Hawke tried to sass him. “Wear was not a part of that sentence, you know.”

“… Those clothes are rather revealing,” Fenris added unhelpfully. “Long arm holes.”

With a squawk Hawke attempted, and failed, to cover the holes more appropriately. “Why are you staring in my shirt!?”

The struggle not to laugh was given up as Varric snorted out an uncontrollable flurry of laughter. Undeterred by Hawke’s anger or Varric’s laughter, Fenris continued to stare unabashedly. “Not a shirt, tabard,” he corrected.

Trying, and failing, to adjust the tabard, Hawke aimed a kick at the warrior. It went wide. “NOT THE POINT!” she snapped.

“Didn’t you two sleep together?” Varric quipped. “Why does him staring bother you?”

“NOT THE POINT!”

With a shrug and gesture of his bottle, Fenris motioned to Hawke again. “Just saying. May want to put your robe back on.” His eyes narrowed as he suddenly became aware of the lack of anything in Hawke’s hands. “…You… did bring it back out with you, right?”

The Mage paled. “… Oh shit…”

**The Present**

“Wait… Is this why Knight Commander Meredith is frothing at the mouth about Mages trying to ‘tempt her Knight Captain’ and stealing uniforms?”

A long pause followed Aveline’s furious inquiry. Then, “… I didn’t think about that part.”

“DID YOU THINK ABOUT ANY PART!?” the Captain roared.

On the ground, Fenris gripped his head with a pained groan. “Please stop shouting.”

“If you hadn’t been drinking I wouldn’t be shouting and you wouldn’t be hung over,” Aveline hissed. Her arms crossed. “I’m this close to signing you up for alcoholism therapy.”

The Elf looked up at her with mild horror. Varric snorted weakly. “Like you could get him to go.”

With a huff, Aveline gestured at them, clearly fed up. “Just get on to the part about the hobo… Bandit… Whatever.”

**Flashback**

With Varric hunched over in breathless laughter and Fenris’ face in his hand, there was no one to witness Hawke’s sprint back towards the Templar’s quarters until it was too late.

“Is she going back in!?”

“We should do something about that,” Fenris commented blandly.

Slowly, Varric turned to stare at Fenris. He gestured between the Elf and the Templar quarters. “She’s your sort of girlfriend. After you.”

“Oh yes, because having the lyrium crusted Elf walk into the Templar’s quarters would end wonderfully.”

“… Lyrium crusted? You could not have thought of a better phrase?”

A yelp cut the quiet night air before Fenris could counter. Both males blinked at the wall that Hawke had toppled over. Fenris frowned. “… That’s not the Templar’s housing is it?”

Varric sighed heavily. “Nope.”

On the other side of the wall, Hawke struggled to get back onto her feet. “Where the hell did this bush come from!?” And it was an evil bush to be sure. Its prickly little branches and twigs snagged in her newly acquired uniform and pricked at her skin. Growling she rolled hard to the side, flinging herself out of its clutches. Well, whatever insidious gardening Meredith had ordered, it would not get this Mage.

On her feet, Hawke dusted herself off and scowled at the building in front of her. “This… isn’t the Templar’s quarters. Shit.”

She could have sworn she had climbed the right wall. What was this then? Some illusionary trick of Orsino’s? Flustered, she prowled the grounds around the building. It certainly seemed real enough. Maybe she had jumped the wrong wall after all? Damn. That meant she would need to fling herself ungracefully over yet another wall. She needed to work on her landings, but it was hard when everything felt so… light. Her balance felt off. Her head felt like it was full of fluff.

Muttering, she made for what appeared to be a gate back to the main road. With some difficulty, and a lot of sucking in her gut and smooshing her chest down, Hawke managed to squeeze through the bars… Just in time for Isabela to pounce her.

“Quick! Run for it!”

“Wait! My robe is still in there!”

“No time for questions!” The pirate barked as she forcibly grabbed Hawke and dragged her after them. Hawke turned to glance bewildered at Sebastian, who was being pulled along by Merrill. The Priest looked positively furious.

“I refuse to be apart of this!” Sebastian growled, making a bid for freedom, but Merrill was stronger than she looked, her long fingers remaining firmly curled into the blanket. Sebastian could have released it and allowed her to take it, thus freeing himself, but he was not about to stand naked in the middle of the city, late hour or not.

Behind them, Hawke heard a command to halt. Risking a glance back, she briefly caught sight of the familiar burnt orange guard uniform before the four fleeing ‘criminals’ turned another corner. Any attempt to get her robe at this point was a lost cause. Giving in, Hawke scrambled to keep pace with Isabela. “What happened!?”

A giggling Merrill was the first to answer. The small Elf seemed to be thoroughly enjoying herself. “We staked a claim to the Keep! We demanded the Viscount’s booty!”

Still well under the effect of Merrill’s ‘tea’, Hawke blinked dumbly at Merrill not grasping the situation. “… You wanted a piece of his ass?”

Isabela glanced back with a look of horrified disgust. “Hawke! I’m free with my affections, but not that free! Uch!” She shuddered hard. “The wrinkles…”

Voice rumbling with aggravation, Sebastian spoke over Isabela’s gagging sounds. “They were demanding access to the treasury. The guards overheard us. Why they thought the guards _wouldn’t_ hear us is beyond me…”

Curious hazel eyes glanced his way. “Us?” Hawke asked.

“I MEANT THEM!”

“Give it up, Priesty!” Isabela shouted teasingly as she navigated them through side streets with disturbing accuracy. Even in her inebriated state, Hawke had to wonder if Isabela had not scouted out High Town for a heist.

The group scrambled over a low decorative half wall. “I heard you instructing Merrill on how to appropriately demand ransom,” the pirate quipped.

Not looking as offended as Hawke would have expected, Sebastian rolled his eyes. “I was correcting her grammar!”

A disbelieving bark of laughter escaped Isabela as they spilled out into the Gallows courtyard. “Quick! Grab em!” she shouted and Hawke found herself sent sprawling onto her face in Fenris and Varric’s general direction.

The pair watched in amusement as Hawke managed a rude gesture toward Isabela as she struggled to her feet again. Their amusement was only short lived however as Isabela, Sebastian, and Merrill tore past, guards not far behind. Not waiting to find out how close they were, Hawke nabbed both the gawking Dwarf and Elf and raced after her fleeing companions.

Risking a glance back, Varric shouted incredulously, “You got caught!?”

“No! Isabela was demanding the Viscout’s ass!”

Varric’s complexion reached a new shade of green. “The wrinkles…”

And for the first time in history, Fenris gave up drinking as a lost cause. “There is not enough wine in this world to make that idea palatable,” he grumbled.

“You can use big words! Congratulations!”

“Not the time Varric!” Hawke barked, nearly careening him into a wall in the process.

“Watch the face!”

Their flight could only last so long, however. With three resounding ‘oof’s the trio collided into their friends from behind, sending all six of them crashing to the filthy streets of Low Town. Sebastian, by some miracle, managed to keep his blanket, if only barely. Varric ended up with an eyeful of more priest leg than he had ever wanted to see in his life.

At the bottom of the pile, Isabela growled, “Whoever has their elbow in my kidney, knock it off!”

Perched, quite happily she might add, on Fenris, Hawke frowned down. “Why did you stop!?”

“Hello there, beautiful. Hand over any valuables and you might get to keep that pretty little tabard on.”

Far from put off, Hawke scowled at group of men and women that stepped from behind the broken crates and debris that frequented Low Town’s streets. “Hey, I got this tabard and skirt fair and square. If you want one then find your own Templar to steal it from.”

“Hawke,” Sebastian growled.

“No! It’s mine! I won title of Craziest Member of the Hawke Gang and I’m not giving up my trophy without a fight, damn it!”

“Hawke Gang?” Varric muttered. “You couldn’t think of a better name than that?”

“Being witty is your job.”

The crack of a hammer hitting plaster abruptly ended their debate. “That’s better,” the apparent leader of their supposed robbers said, smiling with what few teeth he had left. “How about you shut up and give us your things. That lady at the bottom, hand us your jewelry.”

While Isabela choked on her own laughter, Hawke crinkled her nose. “How many of you people are there?”

The bandit blinked at her dumbly, face darkening irritably. “Excuse me?”

“I swear, this is the fifth gang I’ve had to clean out this month…”

“Aveline should start paying you,” Varric suggested.

Far from being excited by the idea, Hawke’s face tensed in panic. “Oh Maker, Aveline! No time for this! Guards! Aveline will tranquil me if we get caught!”

“Well if you people will get off of me,” Isabela grunted. “Trust me, normally I’d love to be at the bottom of an enjoyably sweaty pile of lovely people such as yourselves, but now is not the time. Look, Toothy McGrin, either bugger off or deal with the guards.”

The bandits fairly roared with laughter. “Guards? And where are you going to pull those from, eh? Your cleavage?”

With some excessive wiggling, Isabela managed to squeeze out from under Merrill. “That would be a neat trick, wouldn’t it?” Without warning, a palm to Hawke’s sternum sent her tumbling off Fenris with a yelp. But before Fenris had a chance to break for freedom, Isabela grabbed him and flung him towards the bandits. “How about an angry Elf instead!”

As a flurry of Elven swears and screams broke out in the narrow street, echoing off the walls, Isabela made a break back towards the way they came. “Run for it!”

“You threw my Elf at them!”

“He’s fine!”

But freedom was short lived. Not more than half way down the street, the guard turned the corner.

“Let it be known,” Sebastian suddenly declared, “that I hate all of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initially this was supposed to end after the Present part with Aveline, like all the previous chapters, but it would have been sooooo short if I’d done that, so I combined the first half of the next chapter with this one. One more chapter to go!
> 
> Chapter 5 – In which Hawke finally hits a hobo bandit and Sebastian gets arrested for streaking.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Side boob.

The small street went utterly still. It was almost worth being caught to see the look of alarm on the bandits’ faces.

“Friends!” Isabela cried, throwing her arms wide in cheerful greeting.

The guard at the patrol’s head looked unamused. “You’re under arrest.”

The pirate huffed. “Well that’s rude…”

Behind her, Fenris flung one of the bandits that had grabbed him from behind down onto the street by the guard’s feet. The lead guard glanced from the prone man up to Isabela, pointedly.

“They started it,” she blurted. There was no time for the guards to give any real reply when another bandit went flying right into them, knocking several down. When the disorientated bandit decked one of the guardsmen in the face, the order was shouted to take them all in.

Pinned between the two groups and too inebriated to risk casting, Hawke settled for her next best defense.

Wildly, she flailed her fists.

“I was not made for brawling! I’m too handsome for this.” Varric’s voice shouted somewhere from the mess as guards and bandits clashed. Not far, Isabela let out a whoop as Sebastian resorted to head butting a man, too busy attempting to keep hold of his blanket with people repeatedly stepping on it. “That’s more like it!” she cried as the bandit went down, blood streaming from his nose, while Sebastian swore and rubbed his forehead.

Excited, Merrill clapped as Isabela mounted one poor bandit, her arm banded around their neck in a choke as she rode their stumbling body piggy back style around the street. Knife in her other hand she shanked any bandit who dared to get too close and cracked more than one guard or bandit over the head with the hilt.

“Can you not kill the guards!?” Hawke shrieked.

Foot rising up to plant in some woman’s throat, Isabela shouted back, “They have helmets! They’re fine! They’ll feel better in the morning!”

Her fist finally colliding with some bandit’s solar plexus, Hawke opted to hiss and shake her hand over replying. “My flimsy Mage wrists are not made for this…”

On the edge of the fight, working his way towards escape, Varric called, “Come on, Hawke! Hit em!”

“I’m trying!” she barked. “I’m not designed for fist fighting! And where are you going!?”

“Fenris! Throw her!” Isabela crowed.

“WHAT!?”

Before she had more than an instant to register it, she found herself being hefted off the ground. “What are you doing!?”

“Cover yourself in rocks.”

“ _Don’t you dare, Fenris!_ ” But it was too late. The Elf had already flung her bodily at the mess of bandits of guards and with a yelp Hawke managed only to cover her arms in her rock armor before she collided with the mass of people and went down in a flurry of swears. “ _You’re dead, Elf!”_

Uncaring of the hostile forces she was sitting on, Hawke growled and struggled to her feet, rolling up her rock like sleeves in a silly display as she stormed towards Fenris.

By this time, Isabela had finally taken out her “steed” and had located the most likely path of escape. Sensing an opening in the brawl, Isabela bolted for the nearest alley. Varric was right behind her, dragging Merrill with him. It took tearing off part of his blanket, but Sebastian made a dash for freedom. At the back, Fenris grabbed Hawke by her tabard as she stormed up to him and yanked her after them as the Mage continued to swing random punches. “Fight me!”

Despite the telltale glow of Fenris’ markings being a beacon for their escape, the group managed to get two streets over without any sign of pursuit. With a laugh, Isabela leant against the crumbling wall of some abandoned business. “Well, that was fun,” she chirped.

Sebastian’s face was torn between incredulity and insult. He opened his mouth to lecture, before his jaw clicked shut. With a shake of his head he muttered, “Why do I bother?”

“Good question, Choir Boy,” Varric groaned. He had taken one or two good shots and he rubbed sullenly at his jaw that would be quite bruised by the morning.

Hanging by her tabard, still in Fenris’ grip with her feet an inch or two off the ground, Hawke groaned. “No one tell Aveline.”

“Tell Captain Aveline what, exactly?”

Six pairs of eyes widened and snapped to the end of the street where Donnic stepped from the shadows, arms crossed and scowling.

Hawke flashed a smile meant to be charming, but looked pained. “Donnic!”

“Hello!” Merrill shouted.

Both Varric and Isabela scrambled to shush the Elf before she could blow their cover, but it was pointless. The likelihood that Donnic was unaware of the events two streets over was slim to none.

Standing straighter, Sebastian strode forward to stand in front. “These hooligans stole my clothing.”

Donnic sighed.

**The Present**

Sullen, Sebastian sunk down against the cell wall. “I can’t believe he arrested me for streaking…”

“Oh please,” Isabela scoffed. “That cannot be the first time you’ve done that.”

“I had a blanket, thank you very much. That is hardly streaking.”

The sound of Aveline’s frustration could barely be heard over Isabela’s guffaw. The Captain threw up her hands. “You demanded a ransom from the Viscount!? Donnic did not mention that! This was not in the morning report!”

Distantly Hawke wondered if this would finally be the time she got to witness Aveline burst a blood vessel. Despite the fact that he had been the one to finally arrest them, Hawke still felt some sympathy for their periodic gambling and drinking partner. Aveline was frightening. They needed to band together.

“To be fair, I think he’s still trying to figure out how much of last night was us or just chance occurrence.”

Fenris’ head rolled lazily toward her on the floor. “Is it ever chance occurrence that we’re around when something goes wrong?”

“I told you we should have brought Anders,” Isabela complained. “She’d have let us out if we had Anders. His charm actually works, unlike Varric’s—”

“Hey!”

“—and she wouldn’t risk Meredith finding him.”

Frantic, Hawke gestured wildly at Aveline. “Meredith is going to find me!”

“I think she likes you,” Isabela chirped unhelpfully.

“….” Hawke glowered at the pirate while Aveline glowered in general.

“I would not have let you out of anywhere!” the Captain snapped.

“Are you kidding me? If we had Anders then Meredith would order a Rite of Annulment on this whole prison!” Her gestures turned to flails. Sebastian scowled and leaned away from Hawke. “Not to mention Merrill and Varric… and me—”

“And I,” Sebastian corrected reflexively.

Kindly, Hawke flipped him a rude gesture, “—and me, were high. Did you really want us in the sewers where we’d be trying to eat any mushroom we found?”

The expression on Fenris’ face curdled and it seemed a distinct possibility that he might vomit. “That is absolutely disgusting.”

Expression lit in glee, Merrill half sat up from Hawke and Sebastian’s laps. “Oh! I love mushrooms!”

Pressing the Elf back down, Hawke looked at Isabela flatly. “See?”

“Daisy, I’m starting to worry about the amount of hallucinogens you intake…” With great effort, Varric managed to get up enough to twist around to look at the Elven woman worriedly.

Below them, Fenris scoffed. “It would certainly explain things.”

There was a long pause before Varric raised his eyes up to Sebastian. “Wait… You won’t preach the Chant, but you’ll preach about grammar?”

“One is a heavy choice that must come from the soul and the other is common knowledge ignored!”

By this point, it was apparent that Aveline had given the whole situation up as a lost cause. The bridge of her nose pinched between her fingers, she squeezed her eyes shut. Her voice was strained and came through gritted teeth. “This explains the Viscount’s complaints of late night vandalism and ‘threats’…”

There was a brief lull before Hawke attempted her best charming smile. Perhaps this time it would work. Maybe. “Soo… I give back the Templar’s clothes and no harm done?”

Head still bowed and nose in her fingers, Aveline glared up at Hawke. Then, her face suddenly fell flat and neutral. That did not bode well. Hawke traded her smile for the sad puppy look as Aveline straightened.

“I think I may need more time to scour for evidence and discuss this matter with my guardsmen.”

More than one person gaped. “Hey! Wait!” Hawke cried. “We ousted a gang for you! … Sort of… I punched a few. Donnic probably did the rest.”

“… Nice, Hawke…” Varric grumbled.

Without a response, Aveline turned and stalked away. Nearly dumping both Varric and Merrill on the floor, Hawke scrambled up from the bed to grab the bars. With her face smooshed against them, she wailed, “Aveline waaaaaaaaait! Aveline, I have side boob! At least give me a shirt! Aveline! Side boob!”

Her answer was the slam of the main jail door. Cheeks oozing around the bars, Hawke pouted.

“It’s some nice side boob though. At least the view will be pleasant,” Isabela fairly sang. Hawke only sighed.

Silence stretched between them as each member of the group contemplated the idea of spending another indefinite length of time stuck in the dark cell. A rustle of cloth drew Hawke away from the bars finally, two red lines streaking down her face. Still on the bed, Varric removed a deck of cards.

“So… Wicked Grace to pass the time?”

The sound of Sebastian’s palm meeting his forehead echoed through the jail.

“I hate all of you…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the shenanigans. I don’t think Aveline will be letting them out any time soon. Imagining Grand Cleric Elthina having to pick up Sebastian on bail… That would be an interesting conversation.


End file.
